"Then I should prefer not to acquaint my friends with my position," said Markham, "since I can release myself from my present difficulty without their assistance."
Reassured by this conviction, though still strangely excited by the appalling scene which he had witnessed, Richard seated himself by the fire, and soon fell into conversation with the policemen. These men could talk of nothing but themselves or their pursuits: they appeared to live in a world of policeism; all their ideas were circumscribed to station-houses, magistrates' offices, prisons, and criminal courts of justice. Their discourse was moreover garnished with the slang terms of thieves; they could not utter a sentence without interpolating a swell-mob phrase or a Newgate jest. They seemed to be so familiar with crime (though not criminal themselves) that they could not devote a moment to the contemplation of virtue: they only conversed about persons who were "in trouble," but never condescended to lavish a thought to those who were out of it.
"Crankey Jem has done it brown at last, has'nt he?" said Crisp.
"He has indeed," replied the inspector. "But what could he have done with all the swag?"[1]
"Oh! he's fadded[2] that safe enough," observed the officer in plain clothes. "My eye! What a slap-up lily benjamin[3] he had on when he was nabbed."
"Yes—and sich a swell bandanna fogle[4] in the gropus."[5]
"He had'nt any ready tin though; for he wanted to peel,[6] and put the white-poodle up the spout[7] for a drop of max."[8]
"And because you would'nt let him he doubled you up with a wallop in your dumpling-depot,[9] did'nt he?"
"Yes—but I bruised his canister[10] for him though."
"This'll be the third time he's been up afore the beaks[11] at the Old Bailey."